


confidence

by tenuis



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24045085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenuis/pseuds/tenuis
Summary: Fox Mulder is an oblivious hot mess in tiny red speedos.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	confidence

**Author's Note:**

> i know the timeline here might be a bit confusing cause they've already almost kissed in FTF, but just roll with it. quarantine has shattered my worldbuilding capabilities.
> 
> please leave a comment and make my day!

Mulder absolutely loves swimming. It’s stress relief in its best form; it allows him to focus like nothing else, sharpening his concentration like a razorblade, so that he can leap from one idea to the other swift and seamlessly. He’s a sucker for anything sporty — basketball, baseball, running, all of these keep his mind and body smart for his work. But none of them hold a candle to swimming.

He tries to make some time for it at least twice every week, preferably after one of those lifeless, unstimulating days at the office with nothing to do but dull paperwork — god knows he’s had enough of them for a lifetime. And, after his and Scully’s asses were very emphatically kicked out of the X-Files, _these days_ have now become _every day_.

So now, every day after work — he doesn’t even wait for the clock to tick five anymore —, Mulder heads to the fitness center and plummets himself into the pool. He pushes all thoughts of Kersh and bureaucratic obstructions forcefully out of his head, and swims until his shoulders go numb.

-x-

Today — Monday, of all days — was particularly strenuous for Mulder’s patience, which is already at an all-time low. After sitting on his ass all day speeding through tax returns and manure imports, when he thought his brain was finally going to collapse in itself from the absolute boredom and humiliation of it all, Kersh’s despotic little assistant sauntered into the office and plopped what had to be the bible’s weight of new, even _more_ tedious documents on his and Scully’s desk. With a look of disdain and victory directed at Mulder, she left him to wallow in his anger, inside the very busy, loud, annoying office he now inhabited. He very nearly broke the pencil he was holding.

That was at 4:15. He looked at Scully then, his face pure red, and met her sad, beautiful gaze staring back at him in concern. He sighed in defeat, and got up to grab his suit, when he felt her tiny hand grasp his wrist lightly.

“This is going to get better, Mulder. We’re going to get through this. You go on and leave, I’ll prep these for when we come in tomorrow.”

At the pool, Mulder closes his eyes and replays her soft words in his mind over and over. He thinks about her loyal blue eyes for a moment, and then dives in.

He swims and swims and swims. Puts his photographic memory to work and summons in his mind all the X-Files that were burnt to a crisp; he sorts the most pressing cases, sifts through them in his mind, attempts to reconstitute little by little the most essential part of his life that’s been ripped away from him. He stops every so and so to gather his strength and gulp down some water, only to start again, more vigorously than before.

He loses track of time, and when he stops again to breathe, he sees that everyone has left. That only adds to his surprise when he hears the clicking of heels in the distance, and when he turns his head, it’s Scully coming to him with orange juice, a sandwich from the deli across the street, and a sweet little smile.

What a saint.

With the pain and exhaustion in his muscles thrown to the back of his head and a grin plastered on his face, Mulder steps out of the pool and walks to grab his towel, swinging his goggles at the wall.

When he turns to her, toweling off his hair with the goofy smile still in place, he finds her glued to her spot, eyes widening and lips slightly parted, as if in shock. His smile falls, and he walks up to her.

“Those for me? How thoughtful,” he attempts in a playful tone, and she doesn’t say anything for a while, her eyes stuck to his chest. When he’s just beginning to worry about her, she finds his eyes and blushes a deep crimson, quickly avoiding his gaze.

She stammers. “Yeah. You… you left in such a hurry, and— you looked so mad, I got concerned. I knew you were heading down here, so I grabbed some food for you, ‘cause I thought you might be hungry. Or something,” She finishes with a flustered sigh, never meeting his eyes — or his entire body, as if he weren’t there —, and stares at the floor.

Oh. _Oh._

The realization takes him aback for a second. Mulder is aware of the effects that his addiction to exercise has on his body. He knows he’s fit. But he’s always seen it as a facilitator to his work — the work of his life, that is so paramount to him, that doesn’t leave space for any other thoughts.

And he flirts, sure. But at this point in his life, he’s so detached of any impetus to pursue sex with a real, physical person, that his flirting is more of a joke on himself than anything else. He watches a lot of porn, and he has a long list of 1-900 numbers, but they’re all a means to an end. He’s such a lonely man, and has been so for such a long time now, that he doesn’t even think of sex anymore. It gives him a funny feeling that Scully, his best friend Scully, of all people, should be looking at him like this…

All of a sudden, he feels exposed in his tiny red speedos. He wraps himself in the towel, up to his belly button. That seems to make Scully a little more comfortable, so he leads them to the nearest bench.

Mulder takes the sandwich and juice from her, and dives in passionately. “Fank you fo muff for this,” he says with his mouth full, in an attempt to make himself look a little gross. The way Scully looked at him just then spooked him a bit, and he feels so strangely shy now — miles away from the bantering, cheeky mess he knows himself to be. He tries not to think too much about it.

She laughs and squints at him suspiciously. Now he’s the one not making eye contact.

She touches his wrist like she did earlier in the day. “Hey, I’m sorry about that dopey look I was giving you just now. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she tells him earnestly, and that’s so Scully; reasonable and diplomatic. She really can read Mulder like a book, and that calms him down a little.

He takes his time chewing and swallowing, thinking about what he’s going to say. “Nah, it’s fine. Had I seen such a vile monster coming out of the pool I woulda whipped my gun out,” he jokes, trying to get back to familiar ground.

Scully scoffs. “Now you’re just fishing for a compliment, Mulder.”

That thought never even crossed his mind, and his head shoots up in surprise. She looks him in the eye for what feels like forever, and he’s stunned, his mouth open but no sounds are coming out. He can’t seem to say anything to make his situation better, and her expression shifts from exasperation to fondness.

“Oh, Mulder, you can’t be serious.” He hadn’t even said anything, but they’re like that. Scully smiles gently. Her hand that never left his skin squeezes his wrist and he inwardly startles a bit; this situation is making him on edge, it’s so unusual.

“I can’t?” He winces.

She laughs incredulously, and is back to the adorable stuttering of moments ago. “Well, n—no.” She pauses. “No, Mulder. It’s… not possible that you can’t see how handsome you are. And it frankly surprises me that you have that silly look on your face.” She looks down and her smile is so wide it’s got to hurt her cheeks. “You’re gorgeous, Mulder.”

This has got to be a dream. He’s probably passed out somewhere with a massive bump on his head. What the hell. He feels about twelve right now, impressionable and idiotic.

Mulder giggles manically and she laughs along with him. They just smile at each other for a while, and he doesn’t know whether this feeling in his stomach is happiness or constipation.

“God, that really made me feel better about myself. Thank you, Scully,” Mulder says honestly. Pity flashes in her eyes for an instant, and she quickly gets up.

“Well, don’t let it get to your head. You finish your sandwich and go home, Mulder. You really need to rest. I can see that you’ve been really stressed out lately, and… just. Take it easy, okay? Get some sleep.” She lingers for a moment, reading his face, and palms his cheek delicately. He closes his eyes. “Go home.”

He listens to her footsteps getting fainter and fainter in the distance, and his eyes stay closed long after she’s gone.

-x-

It’s only when Mulder gets home that he realizes just how exhausted he is. He strips to his boxers lazily and throws himself on the couch, the soft orange of early nightfall illuminating his living room.

He looks down at himself then. Scully’s words have echoed inside his head ever since they left her mouth, and he can’t help but reflect on what she said.

_It’s not possible that you can’t see how handsome you are._

Mulder palms his chest, his ribs, his stomach. Ruffles his chest hair a little. Drags his fingers up and down his belly. He feels himself getting hard to the sound of her voice in his brain. He’s so used to the aid of telephone calls and porn videos that it surprises him, in a good way.

Mulder drags his hands up and down his thighs, feels the hardness of the muscle underneath. He begins to see, now, what she was talking about. His abdomen is rippled and hard, and his muscles cast shadows on his skin in the soft light of dusk. His breaths get shaky, and he can’t tear his eyes away from his own body. He’s so turned on right now, in a way he hasn’t allowed himself to be for so long.

He crosses his arms, sliding his hands up and down his clenched biceps forcefully, and his cock twitches, hard as a rock. He drags his nails down his chest, his abs, inside his underwear and grabs his hardness in a strong grip. He’s so shocked with himself and what he’s doing, that a loud gasp escapes his lips. He smiles.

He rips his underwear off in a flash and stares at his crotch for a moment. His cock lays upon his stomach, some precome leaking onto his soft skin. Scully never mentioned anything about this particular part of his body, but he feels obliged to take some artistic liberty.

_You’re gorgeous, Mulder._

And he feels it too. Never in his life has he felt so handsome, so utterly masculine, so strong and desirable. He grips his dick once again and just holds it up, watching his big hand clutching at the base, enjoying how it throbs and twitches in his tight grasp. His left hand slowly explores this newfound beautiful body of his, gripping the outside of his thighs, clawing at his protruding hipbones, twisting a nipple.

He bites his lip and whimpers a little at just how good this feels. His cock is so red and swollen, he’s never been this hard before without any external help. It stands up proudly, glistening with precome dripping down its length, and he feels so powerful. So obscenely sexy.

He starts stroking up and down, and the wet sound of him slicking himself with his own juices is so loud in his quiet apartment, that it rips a long moan out of him. His left hand goes down instantly to cradle his balls, kneading and pulling on them a little. He’s panting now, so high on pleasure, feeling so sensual, and his right hand’s speeding up of its own volition, and he feels his orgasm approaching like a runaway train.

Mulder can’t help but close his eyes then, and only one person comes to his mind. Kind blue eyes appreciating his beautiful body, a sultry feminine voice praising him, small, soft hands touching him all over, fiery red hair firmly in his grasp, full, red lips, kissing him, kissing him…

He strokes himself furiously while he comes, eyes clenched shut, a sob bursting out of his throat. It feels so, so good, he doesn’t want it to ever end. He can feel his come splattering on his chest, his abs, dripping down his hand, and he laughs with joy.

It takes a while for him to come down from that high, and when he finally looks down at the mess he made, his cock twitches appreciatively. Wow.

But he’s so exhausted, even more after what he’s just done, so he grabs his underwear and wipes himself up sloppily. Collapses back on the couch, and grabs his Aztec afghan as an afterthought. It’s so easy to fall asleep then.

He sleeps heavily through the night, dreaming of large blue eyes.


End file.
